Wishes and Dreams
by Old Romantic
Summary: SV Fluffy Christmas Fic. Awarded 1st Place for the Dec. 2003 SD1 Fanfic Challenge. Post 3x10Remnants. Based on the Lifetime movie, Comfort and Joy.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Wishes and Dreams

**Genre/Ship: **Romance (S/V)

**Rating**: PG/T 

**Timeline: **Post-3x10-Remnants, before we knew Lauren was evil.

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, yeah, yeah…I don't own anything but mortgages. Included in this disclaimer, along with _Alias_ and all of its characters, is the _Lifetime_ movie, _"Comfort and Joy"_. It's not mine either.

**Summary: **An _Alias _Christmas fic written in 2003 based on the premise of the movie _"Comfort and Joy" _but starring Sydney and Vaughn.

**Awarded First Place in the December 2003 SD-1 Fanfiction Challenge!**

**The Dec. 2003 Challenge guidelines were: **Jack Bristow in a Santa suit singing a Christmas carol, a snowball fight, a snow globe that has sentimental value, a scene at an airport, use of the word "gingerbread", and a poinsettia plant.

**A/N: **As cheesy as it was, "Comfort and Joy," starring Nancy McKeon and Steven Eckholdt, when I saw it four years ago, quickly became one of my new favorite Christmas movies. I had the thought to write this story using Sydney and Vaughn, and when I checked the challenge guidelines, I decided to give it a try and ended up being very proud of this story.

So, in honor of the Christmas season, I thought I'd repost it again, now four years later. Hope it's still as well-liked, even though it's being well-recycled.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 1:**

It was the phone call that would change my life. Not that I minded it—any change, good or bad, was definitely a _good_ thing. I mean, how many women had to live every day, working with the man that they loved—and never broke up with, by the way—_and _his wife? Not many that I've come across anyway. Just me.

"Syd…I need to talk to you. Can you meet me somewhere?" That was how it started—with a simple phone call from Vaughn right before Christmas.

I had sighed then; the prospect of standing in the same room with him again, unable to touch him, completely unappealing to me. I get enough of that at work. And being the holidays, I just wanted to sit alone in my misery. "Vaughn, it's Christmas Eve. Can't you just tell me over the phone?" I had asked.

"No, it's…kind of important. I'd rather say it in person."

_It must be bad news. Or rather, __**more**__ bad news. Like I need that. Merry Christmas to me._ I sighed again, knowing it would probably be better to just get it over with. "Alright. Where?"

Although relieved, his voice sounded hesitant as he asked, "Is the pier okay?"

"Why there?" I breathed. That place had way too much emotional history for us, and I didn't really want those great memories tainted with bad news. And if I could hazard a guess, I'd say he was going to tell me he was being transferred across the country, so that he and Lauren could have a healthy marriage without me causing them any more conflict between them.

He didn't have to argue his point. In fact, all he had to say was, "Syd," and I gave in.

If he wanted to end our relationship—whatever that was—at the same place where it began, then so be it. "Okay," I agreed. "I'll be there in an hour."

I took my time getting ready, and then drove toward the pier, wondering if I could've done anything differently to keep Vaughn from wanting to leave, _if_ that was in fact what he wanted to tell me. But what could I have done? I was really the victim in all of this, so why was I the one feeling guilty for making him want to get as far away from me as possible? And why _wouldn't_ he want to work on his marriage? Vaughn was nothing if not moral to the core. In fact, that was one of the reasons I fell in love with him in the first place.

Glancing at my watch and noticing that I was going to be at least fifteen minutes late, I realized I didn't really care. All that I'd cared about had become dust in the wind, and lost to me forever. The _only _thing I had left was my ability to do my job, so from this moment on I knew that that would have to be what I'd have to live for. Besides, the New Year was just around the corner, and it would be a perfect time to make a new start.

Despite my sad optimism for the next year, I still wished I could go back to that fateful night and change history by asking him to come inside with me. Or maybe I could've checked my messages while still in his car _before_ I went inside and faced Allison Doren alone. I know things would've ended up differently then. It would've been two against one then, and maybe between us we would've _killed _her, instead of letting her get away the first time. And then we could've gone to Santa Barbara as planned and been happy…and together. _If only…_

I hear a squeal of tires in front of me, and I snap out of my daydreams to see a car coming straight toward me, causing me to swerve and drive off the road. Knowing that a wooden fence would be easier to hit than a telephone pole, I steered toward that, while slamming on my brakes. I stopped, but I did hit the fence, and I'm pretty sure my head hit the steering wheel too, because everything went black.

I saw a light first, and felt my head aching with pain. Then the words of a familiar voice, _"Syd. Syd, can you hear me?_" Along with the feeling of a hand lightly touching my face, the voice got louder: "Sydney. Sydney, come on, baby, wake up." _Baby? _I tried to pry my eyes open to see if it was in fact Vaughn like I had thought at first, but they wouldn't cooperate. "Sydney, are you okay? If you can hear me, open your eyes."

I tried again, and this time my eyes managed to flutter open slightly. Looking over at the voice beside my car and seeing VaughnI realized that he was the only one I ever wanted to see at that moment His face was lined with worry as he said, "Thank God you're okay. I was scared half to death when you didn't show up on time."

With every blink, I noticed my vision was getting clearer, and so was my mind when I recognized the gold wedding ring on his finger as he reached to touch my face again. Lifting a hand to the spot that hurt the most, I noticed that a bump had formed on my forehead. Despite the fog clouding my mind, I was a little surprised that _he _was the one to reach me first instead of a stranger, or the paramedics, which brought up a good question, "Vaughn…how did you know where to find me?"

He chuckled lightly, continuing to check me for injuries. "I knew where to look for you."

His smile didn't disappear as he unbuckled my seat belt for me, so I ask, "What's so funny?"

"I guess you bumped your head hard. You called me 'Vaughn' and you haven't called me that in years."

"What are you talking about? That's all I've _ever_ called you."

He lifts my legs and turns me until my feet are hanging out of the car. "Nope," he argues. "You haven't used that name for me since…oh, I guess before we got married," he says casually. "Think you can stand up?"

Ignoring his question, I stand to my feet in front of him in confusion. "Before you married Lauren?"

"No," he laughed. "I was talking about us."

"_Us? _What do you mean _us_?" He stared at me perplexedly, as if he didn't know how to answer. I tried again, "You think _we're _married? _You_ and _me_?"

He nods. "No, I _know _we're married," he reiterates. "_You _are my wife." Grabbing my arms as I slump my back against the car, he asks, "Are you feeling alright?"

I shake my head again, and then squeeze my eyes shut. "This can't be happening," I whisper, trying hard to get out of this dream and back to reality before I lose my mind.

Vaughn looks as confused as I feel, and he asks, "Syd, tell me…what's the last thing you remember?"

I tried to organize my thoughts, and focus on that. Gesturing with my hands, I tell him, "I was on my way to meet you at the pier when I crashed."

"That's right," he nods. "We were going to meet there to drive up the coast and look at the Christmas lights with the kids."

My head snaps up to meet his eyes. "Kids?_ Whose_ kids?"

His look was incredulous. "_Our_ kids. Sydney, what's wrong with you?"

"Vaughn, please just…tell me what's going on…" I plead with him. "The last thing I remember is going to meet you—_just_ you—at the pier to talk, but you were still _very married_ to Lauren."

Vaughn slowly started to grin as I spoke, and he brought his hands up to cradle my face. "Syd, that happened _ten_ years ago. _This_ is our life now. You and me and our girls."

_Girls. We have girls. Vaughn is actually the father of my children. _I feel my face lighten with the thought and a smile gradually forms. "We have two girls?" I'm definitely beginning to like the sound of this hopeful, impossible dream.

"_Three_, Syd." His face scrunched in empathy. "You really don't remember them?"

With tears in my eyes, I shake my head in the negative. "I wish I did."

"Okay," he nods, and then takes my hand in his. "Well, you remember _me_ anyway, so that's a start. And the girls are in the van," he gestured to his minivan parked behind my car. "Let's go say hello. They were really worried about you."

As he tries to lead me toward the van, I pull away and protest, "Oh, Vaughn, I don't know. I don't want to scare them. I don't _remember_—"

"Come on," he smiles hopefully. "Maybe seeing them will jog your memory."

Tugging at my arm again, he guides me toward the van, and it's then that I notice that my car is different from the one I originally crashed. But as we get closer to where our children are, my mind is occupied, wondering what they look like, how old they are, and most importantly, if they'll accept me.

Vaughn opens the back sliding door and three pairs of brown eyes look back at me. "Mommy?" the middle child says, and instantly tears form in my eyes again. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, sweetie, I'm okay," I answer automatically and I'm surprised at myself.

"Mom, that's a _big _bump on your head," the oldest one comments, and I nod.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," I fib. Swallowing hard, I turn back to Vaughn, and ask, "Can I talk to you for just a second?" He closes the door again and looks at me. Talking over the sob that's formed, I turn away from the girls' window and tell him, "I feel horrible. I don't remember them, Vaughn. I don't even know their names—"

"It's easy to remember," he assures me, holding my arms. The love I see in his eyes is evident, and I suddenly realize how much I've missed feeling him hold me. "We named the first one after Francie—she's seven. The second one is Emily. She's named after Emily Sloane and my mother, Amélie. She's five. And Baby Jane is fourteen-months-old. She's named basically after your dad, and because 'Jane' means 'God's gracious gift.' The doctor told us you probably wouldn't be able to have any more children after Emily, so Jane was a great surprise."

My heart started pounding as he spoke, and I began to hope this was real. It was, after all, not the first time I'd woken up missing time in my memory. And to think that I'd skipped right over all of the angst and heartache I'm sure we endured before we got to this happy place in our lives was just like the icing on the cake. Glancing through the window at our children, I realize I'm very willing to accept this reality, despite how bizarre it seems. Looking back into Vaughn's eyes, I ask, "So this is really my life now? With you?"

He nods, and pulls me into his arms. "Yeah, it is," he answers quietly, and as my hands snake around his neck, I catch a glimpse of the rings on my own hand.

I stop to admire them, searching my brain for any possible memory connected with them, but I come up empty. It doesn't really seem to matter at that moment though, because my _husband_ is looking at me with those smoldering eyes like he wants to kiss me. And I'm definitely more than willing to oblige.

We spent the next few minutes tasting each other like the old days that I'd remembered before my _first_ memory loss. It's refreshing slipping right back into the role I always wanted as Vaughn's one and only love in his life and at this moment, I don't want this to end. The last time we'd kissed had been a mistake on my part, when I thought I was in a dream, and it didn't even compare to this wonderful, blissfully mutual kiss. As our lips part, I whisper, "I've missed you…_so_ much…" which is only a _fraction_ of what I feel for him at this moment, and frankly, since the day I reappeared in Hong Kong.

Vaughn pulls back and smiles at me; his hand under my hair with his thumb stroking my cheek. I was just thinking that this fantastic dream couldn't possibly get any better, when he proves me wrong by saying the three most magnificent words I've ever heard from his lips:

"Let's go home."

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_A/N:_ _I'll try to post at least two chapters a day (there are 8) to be done by Christmas Day. Merry Christmas, everyone!_


	2. Chapter 2

**- - - - - - -**

**Chapter 2: **

Despite how badly I want to go home with my new family and pretend all of this is true, I'm still hesitant to accept it. Looking between Vaughn's hopeful smile to the oldest girl's—_Francie's_—curious eyes behind the van's tinted window, I just can't believe it. I shake my head. "This isn't right."

"What's not right? Syd, you just lost your memory again. Probably because you hit your head when you crashed."

I turn and walk away from him. "I know. I understand that that could be _possible_, but I just can't—"

"Maybe I should take you to the hospital," he interrupts.

"No," I protest immediately. I hate hospitals, considering all the times I'd been in them, and I didn't want to voluntarily go if I didn't need to. "I _feel_ fine, it's just that I'm in a different world than what I remember." I look toward the car I was supposedly driving, barely visible from the road in the dusk light, hidden mostly by bushes I'd apparently ended up behind when I'd stopped. The wooden fence I'd hit was laying in broken pieces on the ground; the edges of which were hanging like broken arms. I remember the fence and the accident perfectly, but everything else had changed around me after I passed out. "That's not even my car," I think out loud.

"You're right," he says from immediately behind me. "It's mine. You usually have the girls with you so you normally drive the van."

I spin on my heel to look at him and my eyebrows shoot up. "_I_ drive a _minivan_??"

He grins and nods amusedly. "Yep. You had your car until we had Jane and the backseat got too crowded. And actually, _you_ were the one to suggest getting the van." He looks like he's enjoying this way too much.

"This is unreal. This has to be a dream."

"Well, even if it is," he says; always the rational one, "do you just want to stand out here in the dark, on Christmas Eve, or would you rather go to our house and rest and see what life has been like for you over the last ten years?"

I see his point and I'm too confused to argue. Where else would I go? And why would I want to go anywhere but _home with Vaughn? _ "No, I want to go…home," I answer quickly, although the word sounds strange on my lips. Glancing back over my shoulder, I ask, "What about your car?"

He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. "Yeah," he nods, knowing he had to deal with that first. "I'll try to see if I can get a tow truck, but if not, I'm sure the car will be fine there until after Christmas on Saturday. Why don't you sit in the van and wait for me while I call them?" he gestures over his shoulder.

I nod as he starts to dial a number on his phone, and then make my way over to the front passenger side door of the van and get in. Within a second, Francie whines from the far back seat, "_Mo-om,_" and I turn to look at her. "Emily took my giraffe from me and she won't give it back."

"It's _my_ giraffe!" Emily argues from the middle.

"No it's _not! You _left _yours_ at home!"

"_Uh-uh!!_"

"_Uh-huh!!_"

Their arguing gets louder and Jane, sitting directly behind me, starts to cry. "Shh-shh-shh," I tell her, holding up a hand. "It's okay." But still she keeps crying. I feel a wave of panic come over me and without saying another word, I get back out of the van and walk straight to the front where Vaughn is talking on the phone. He gives me a weird look. "I can't stay in there with them," I whisper frantically.

Covering the mouthpiece of the phone, he asks, "You're not even going to give it a shot?"

"The older two are fighting, and the baby's crying. I just don't know _how_ to deal with them. I'm not _used_ to this, Vaughn. I've never even _babysat_ kids before."

"Try again," he prods. "It'll come to you."

"No, it _won't_. I don't know what to _do _with them!"

He suddenly takes the hand off of his phone and holds up a finger for me to be quiet while he completes his call. "Uh huh. Yeah, well, that's what I thought. Thank you." Hanging up the phone, he says to me, "All their drivers are off for Christmas, but they'll be able to pick up the car on Saturday. What's with the kids?"

"They're fighting over some giraffe or something."

"Oh, yeah. A prize from their Happy Meals yesterday. That's typical."

"Maybe for _you_," I argue. _I_ feel like I've only been in this life for a few minutes while he's apparently _used_ to it.

"I'll show you how you usually deal with it." He walks over to the sliding door and opens it, and then calmly holds out his hand to Emily. "Give it to me."

"What?" Emily asks coyly.

Vaughn doesn't buy it, and says, "Come on. The giraffe you're fighting over. You know the rule. It's mine now."

Emily makes a pouting face and reluctantly gives it up while Francie starts to yell, "Thanks a lot, Emily!"

"That's enough, Francie. You'll get it back in two days." With that, he closes the door.

"_That's_ what I usually do?" I ask him.

"Yeah, it works great," he answers casually as he shoves the giraffe into his pocket. "It's a trick you learned from our old neighbors. If the kids fight over a toy, it becomes ours. They soon learn how to take turns and share."

I'm in awe. I'm literally stunned to see Michael Vaughn talking about parenting techniques. It's definitely something I never thought I'd see in my lifetime, although I'd secretly _wished_ I would. "You're incredible."

"I've just been learning from you," he says with a playful kiss to my nose. "Ready to go?"

I turn to follow him to my side of the car and catch another glimpse at Vaughn's now ruined car. "If I drive the van, what are you going to drive until your car is fixed?"

He shrugs, "Oh, the Agency will loan me another one until then."

My face brightens at the mention of the CIA and I stop him with a hand on his arm. "You still work with the Agency?"

"Yeah," he nods as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Are you still field-rated?" I ask with a little bit of worry for his safety.

"Oh no. I gave that up when you quit."

I'd imagined that I would've gone on at least a maternity leave, but quitting? "So what do _I_ do now?" I ask curiously.

"You…stay at home with the girls."

"That's _it_?" I say incredulously and then correct myself. "I mean, I know being a mother is the most important job in the world, but…what about Sloane and my mother and Sark—"

"Stop," he says, closing the distance between us, touching my arms. "It's a really long explanation, and I know you'll want to hear every detail, but for now, just know that none of them are a threat anymore."

"Are they all dead?" I can't just let this conversation end without knowing at least that much.

"Sloane is. Sark's in prison, and your mother…" he shakes his head. "We don't know where she is."

"She's still missing?"

He nods and then explains, "She reappeared about eight years ago, and while in custody, she helped us discover who exactly was responsible for faking your death and holding you during those two years you were missing." He pauses. "It _was_ Sloane."

I can feel my teeth clenching as I start shuffling my feet in anger. "I _knew_ it. I _knew_ he couldn't be trusted. They were letting him manipulate everything to his advantage and nobody would believe--"

"Sydney," he stops me and looks into my eyes. "Deep down, I always believed that too, but I also knew we had to wait for the right Intel to be able to catch him red-handed. Because of the information your mother gave us, we were able to find him and kill him—actually, _you_ were the lucky one that delivered the fatal shot. We caught Sark during that same raid, and when we got home, we found out you were pregnant, so you quit."

I'm sufficiently calmed, but I ask curiously, "Were we already married then?"

"Just barely." He explains with a wry grin, "You got pregnant on our honeymoon." 

I feel myself blush and share his smile, when another unanswered question pops into my mind. "How did my mother get away again?"

His voice softens. "Before we killed Sloane, he broke her out of the holding facility and she disappeared."

"Again?"

He nods. "You have to understand. Sloane had a large, heavily armed team, and they were well organized and took us by surprise, killing a lot of agents in the process. It was a massacre."

I shake my head at the horror of it all and turn to lean my hips up against the hood of the van. "And after all this time, no one still knows where my mother is?" I ask, staring at the ground beneath my shoes.

He's quiet for a moment, and then admits, "Well…a-a couple of weeks ago, you told me that you suspected that your dad knows where she is."

I look up at him. "Did I ask him about it?"

"No. You'd decided not to…in case he _did _know."

Looking into his eyes, I can understand what he means. If I found out that my dad knew where she was, and I was ever questioned about it, then both of my parents might have been taken into custody, and neither one of us would want that.

"I wish I could talk to him," I say absently.

"Well, you'll see him tomorrow," he says, as he walks around me to my van door to open it for me.

I follow him. "What?"

He grabs the handle. "He's coming with everyone else to dinner."

"Dinner?" I panic, stopping him before he opens the door. "Am…_I _supposed to cook for everyone?" He nods. "Vaughn, I don't know the first thing about cooking big dinners," I plead with him.

He runs his hands from my shoulders to my elbows. "It's okay. I'll help you with that."

"Do _you_ cook?"

He shakes his head, "Well…no, but I'm sure between the two of us, we can figure it out."

I give him a look. "You do realize this could go down in history as the worst Christmas dinner ever."

He laughs. "I know. But it'll be fun."

With a rolling of my eyes, I get into the van and before I barely get my door closed, Francie immediately asks, "Mom, what were you talking to Dad about?"

"Um," I search my mind for an answer to the inquisitive girl's question. "I just…needed to ask him something," I answer as Vaughn slides into the driver's seat.

"What was it?"

"It's personal."

"What's 'personal' mean?"

Fortunately, Vaughn rescues me from this line of questioning, "Francie, enough with the questions. Mommy's head hurts."

Certain that she's not going to be getting an answer, she sits back in her seat and looks out the window in a pout. It only lasts a minute though when she starts talking to Emily about what they hope they're getting for Christmas. Vaughn reaches over and squeezes my hand as he drives. "You okay?"

It's unreal. It's weird, it's unbelievable, and completely a dream come true, and I guess I'm in shock. "Yeah," I say, slipping my fingers in between his. The cold metal of my wedding rings hitting his warm fingers gets my attention, and I turn our hands over to look at them again, when Emily asks, "What do _you_ wish for Christmas, Mommy?"

Looking up from my gold rings to Vaughn's half-smile, knowing that our three children were sitting right behind us, I can only think of one thing to say. "I already got my wish, sweetheart."

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	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry I didn't post these last night, but that means that you'll get four chapters today - two this morning and two tonight. Thanks for your review JackSam - it means so much to me! Enjoy!

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**Chapter 3:**

Our house is in the suburbs, in a quaint little neighborhood with houses brilliantly decorated with lights for the holidays. With a look at the size of the houses, though, something sinks in. "We can _afford_ a house in here?"

He laughs. "Yeah. We bought it during a really low interest period, right after the Agency gave me a raise before we had Francie." He tilts his head and admits, "_And_ with a little help from our parents for the down payment…"

He pulls up in front of our house then, and I'm again in wonder. It's a gorgeous Victorian, two-story house, with a two-car garage and a front porch, complete with a swing. "This is it?" I ask as he waits for the garage door to open all the way.

"Mom, why are you asking questions about our house?" Francie asks as he nods to answer my question.

Vaughn turns to address her, "When your mom bumped—" he starts and I stop him in desperation, shaking my head. He looks at me and with our silent eye communication, he gets it. He evades her with, "She's just not feeling good right now, Francie." He pulls into the garage and shuts off the engine. "Why don't you go on inside and brush your teeth to get ready for bed? Tomorrow's Christmas," he sings, and Francie and Emily get out and go inside the house.

"You need to rest," he says to me when we're alone with just Baby Jane. "I'll get you some ice for that bump, and put the kids to bed. Okay?"

Right now, lying down is probably the best idea for me, so I can have some time to straighten it all out in my mind. After my affirming nod, Vaughn gets out and walks around the van to unbuckle Jane from her car seat, hoisting her up into his arm as I get out too. With his free hand comfortably in the small of my back, he leads us inside.

As soon as we're in the door, he sets Jane down to toddle around and goes to look in the freezer for the ice pack for my head. I take the time to look around at our house, but I don't have much of a chance when he starts to lead me through the living room to the master bedroom upstairs.

Once inside, he gestures to the bed with a simple oak headboard. "Lay down," he gently commands and I automatically lay on what I remembered to be my side of the bed when he and I were together before. He sits down beside me, and places the ice pack, now wrapped in a hand towel, on my head.

I reach up to hold it in place. "Thanks."

"You just relax. Don't worry—I'll take care of everything." With another half-smile, he gets up and starts to leave the room.

"Vaughn?" I say, sitting up slightly. He stops in the doorway and waits for me to continue. "Don't tell the girls I don't remember them," I say quietly.

"I won't," he promises. "I'll bring them in to say goodnight." He leaves the room then, and comes back a couple of minutes later behind the two older girls, with Jane in his arm.

"Mom, why are you in bed already?" Francie asks and I consider my answer.

"I just don't feel good right now, Francie."

"Why?"

"I don't know. But I'll be better tomorrow."

"Are you going crazy?"

"Maybe," I smile at her. That certainly is a possibility. "But I don't think so. I just need to rest for a while."

"Say goodnight, Francie," Vaughn prods to hurry them along, and Francie obeys by saying goodnight and then following that up with one of the sweetest hugs and a kiss. But it was the "I love you, Mom" that made me start to choke up. "Love you too," I managed to say somehow.

Behind her is Emily and she follows the ritual, adding her own question, "Is tomorrow really Christmas?"

"Yes it is, pumpkin," I answer with another smile reserved just for her.

Emily starts jumping animatedly as Francie rolls her eyes and Vaughn hurries them along, with, "Okay, girls. It's bedtime, and when you wake up, you'll get to open your presents!" Francie and Emily immediately run out toward their room excitedly and I put the ice pack down as he passes Jane to me, who lies down on my chest, sucking her thumb.

I hug her close for a moment, realizing how content I could become in this life with these wonderful girls. "Goodnight, Janie," I whisper, kissing her head, and Vaughn reaches for her again.

He's watching me curiously as Jane gets comfortable back in his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. "How'd you know we call her 'Janie'?"

Putting the ice pack back on my head, I answer, "I don't know. It just...came out."

"Okay," he nods in understanding. "Well, I'll be back to check on you in a little while—after I read them their story."

Somehow, I can accept that without too much shock, and I nod and smile encouragingly as he turns to leave the room.

After he leaves, I stay on the bed and look around our bedroom, being sure to keep the ice pack on the bump. I have to admit I like the décor enough to know I probably was the one to design it. Done mostly in neutral tones, it looks very similar to what I used to have in my bedroom at my old apartment I shared with the elder Francie all those years before. I guess some things _don't _change.

From my vantage point, I can see a chest of drawers, a dresser, and a nightstand on either side of the bed. All of the furniture looks fairly new, and beautiful, all part of a set. It too makes me realize that _I_ probably picked it out. With everything I see, it's beginning to sink in that I'm really here and this isn't a cruel joke that someone's playing on me.

On what I'm sure is my dresser, the top of which is covered with perfumes and several bottles of nail polish and a couple of small jewelry boxes, I see four photographs taped to the mirror with people I can't make out from this distance. Keeping the ice pack on my head, I get up and walk toward the dresser to see them.

The first photo I see is of Vaughn and me with Will and some redheaded woman I don't know. Another is a picture of the girls, all smiling for the camera, overdressed in fancy, dress-up, play clothes, complete with plastic crowns. The third one I look at is the one I remembered of my father and me when I was little—he must've made me a copy of his because mine was destroyed along with everything else in the fire at my old apartment. But the fourth picture is immediately my favorite. Cut into the shape of a heart, it's a picture of Vaughn and me—I'm behind him, with my arms wrapped around his shoulders, and our heads side-by-side—my diamond engagement ring the only thing on my left hand. We're both smiling and I can tell we were really happy. Of course, it too was from a time I don't remember.

I look from the photos to my reflection and pull the pack down to look at myself. I haven't changed much if ten years have really passed, but I'm not about to complain. If I still look like this now that I'm forty, I should be grateful. Vaughn didn't even look any different—not that I would have minded if he did. He was always gorgeous and I'm sure my opinion wouldn't change with old age.

"Hey," I hear his voice and I turn to see him coming in the door. "I thought you'd be asleep by now."

Shaking my head, I gesture toward the mirror. "I was just looking at the pictures."

"Oh," he says, coming to stand beside me. "Recognize any of them?"

"Not really. Just this one," I say, pointing to the one with me as a four-year-old on my dad's back. "Who's this?" I point to the redhead beside Will.

"Oh that's Julie. Will's wife."

"Will's married?"

"Yeah. Julie's great. You and she spend a lot of time together."

"We're good friends?"

"Mm-hmm. And they have a little three-year-old boy named Matthew."

"And our other friends? Weiss, Dixon, Marshall and Carrie—are they still around?"

"We see them all occasionally." He turns me to face him and looks at the bump on my head. "It looks like the swelling has gone down. Are you feeling dizzy or tired?"

"No I feel fine. I don't even have a headache."

"Well," he says, looking at my pupils, "You don't seem to have a concussion. But I'm not sure about the memory loss… Are you sure you don't want to sleep?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I'd rather look around the house to know where everything is, so I don't have to ask and make the girls suspicious anymore."

He smiles and takes my hand to lead me around the house, starting with our bedroom and bathroom, continuing to the other rooms upstairs where we are, showing me the girls' rooms and the hall bathroom. He takes me downstairs to the foyer and office to the left, and then behind the stairs to the dining room and kitchen, where I ask for something to drink. He shows me the layout of the cabinets then, so that I won't have to search for a glass when I need it, and then pours me some plain eggnog when I accept the offer.

Sitting down on a barstool across the island from me, he asks, "Do you feel up to helping me get the presents ready for the girls?"

_That sounds like fun_, I think as I take a sip of my drink. "Okay," I say, and he gets up and offers his hand out to me.

I take it and follow Vaughn hand-in-hand into our living room reliving the memory of my daughters' faces as they told me they loved me, and marvel at the feeling of instantaneous love I too have for them. Strolling into the living room, though, I can't help but notice our Christmas tree haphazardly decorated with a mismatch of ornaments and unevenly dispersed tinsel. Vaughn notices the look on my face and comments, "The girls decorated the tree this year."

Smiling, I answer, "It's beautiful." It's the truth, but I know it must be the kind of beauty that only a parent could see. He comes up behind me, and wraps his arms around my waist and I close my eyes with the warmth and love I instantly feel from him as well. Forcing myself to act as if this close contact is a normal occurrence, I open my eyes again, and notice that the presents under the tree are missing, so I lean back into him for a moment and then ask where they are.

"Oh. They're in the closet." He slowly pulls away from me, goes over to the closet under the stairs, and pulls a key from above the doorframe to open it. Sure enough, the closet is full of wrapped presents and a couple of unwrapped boxes. He hands me a stack of presents, and together we carry them, one handful at a time, to put them under the tree.

Of the unwrapped presents, there's a new pink bike for Emily, a scooter, and a box with a large dollhouse inside.

"Who's that for?" I ask when we're through bringing everything into the living room, pointing to the dollhouse.

"Francie," he says, closing the closet door. "She's been asking for it for about six months now." He smiles, bringing the box into the middle of the living room. "We usually leave one present each unwrapped under the tree every year, but this still has to be put together. Wanna help me?"

A smile creeps on my face at the thought. "Yeah, I do."

We get comfortable on our knees on the floor, and as he pulls the house out of the box, I ask, "Do we do this kind of stuff every Christmas?"

"Usually," he answers and then shrugs, "Except last year. We went to my mother's in France and she had all the big presents for them." We started putting the house in order in front of us, opening the packages of furniture that came with it.

"What was that like?"

"Oh, it was fun. The girls were excited. It was the first time they saw snow."

"Really?" That's a surprise considering we could drive two hours north and go skiing if we wanted to.

"Well, they've seen it before but they didn't remember."

"Did they like it?"

"Oh, yeah. They had the best time. We spent almost all of Christmas morning building snowmen in my mother's front yard while she watched Baby Jane, and then the four of us ended up in the biggest snowball fight," he says, opening another package of furniture. "It was you and Emily against me and Francie. We hid behind bushes and trees and tried to outsmart each other. The girls got to laughing so hard that their stomachs hurt, so then my mom whisked them inside to help make cookies."

I can just picture it in my mind. "That sounds like fun. What did you and I do once they went inside?"

He smiled. "If I remember correctly, we continued the snowball fight until we were close enough for me to kiss you, and then it was over."

"I can imagine your kisses weakening my resolve to win," I say, leaning toward him for one of those splendid kisses.

He appeases me and then says with a grin, "It usually works." And then realizing we'd finished the dollhouse, he sits back and surveys our work. "There. Perfect, don't you think?"

"She'll love it," I agree.

He puts the dollhouse in front of the tree, making sure that the nametag is securely attached to the roof, and then turns to the last box we have to deal with. "This one should be easy," he says. "It's Janie's scooter. It supposed to already be completely put together—we just have to apply the stickers."

We get into a rhythm with the stickers as I peel them and pass them over for him to stick them on in the appropriate place, working efficiently together as a team as we always did. I cast a sideways glance at him, as he tries to perfectly fit the speedometer-sticker to the little girl's pink and purple cart. "Exactly how long have we been together?" I ask abruptly.

"Ten years," he answers automatically, and then looks thoughtfully to the ceiling. "Today, in fact."

I narrow my eyes at him. "On Christmas Eve?" He nods, while I shake my head. "How is that possible? I thought that ten years ago today, I was going to meet you at the pier."

"Yeah. And we've been together ever since."

"Vaughn, that night you were still married to Lauren," I argue, handing him the last sticker.

"I know, legally," he shrugs, sticking it on. "But, I was meeting you to tell you I'd left her."

I ask in shock, "You left Lauren for me?"

"It was mutual. I knew I was in love with you, and so did she. And actually, she was the one to file for divorce."

"So she just let you go?"

"Sydney, it ended between us, only _after_ about eight months of complete misery. When you came back, she and I tried to work it out and for a while it was going okay. But in the end, there wasn't a marriage counselor on earth that could convince us to stay together." He stands up and puts the completed scooter in its place in front of the tree with the other gifts, and then holds out his hand for me to hand him the sticker papers and instructions. "Now all we have to do is fill the stockings."

I'm still stunned to silence as he carries the empty boxes and papers to the garbage can in the garage. He comes back in just as I'm getting up and looking around at our living room. His hands are carrying two plastic bags full of toys and candy that came out of some hiding place in the kitchen, and walking over to the fireplace, he instructs me how to evenly distribute the stocking stuffers.

When we're done, the stockings are packed full and we take the bags into the kitchen, turning off the lamps as we go. I pick up my eggnog and finish it off, leaving the empty glass in the sink, while Vaughn takes the kitchen garbage into the garage with the rest. "Tired?" he asks when he comes back into the kitchen and sees me quietly standing up against the sink in the semi-darkness, lighted only by streetlight outside the window.

"A little," I admit.

"You wanna go to bed?" he asks, and the prospect of that sends wonderful butterflies to my stomach.

After I nod, he walks over to me and holds out his hands to pull me into his arms. "It's been a long day," he comments and I grin.

"You don't have to convince me to go to bed with you," I tease him suggestively as we wrap our arms securely around one another.

"Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?" he says, continuing the banter.

I stay back and study his face, wondering the answer to one more question, "Did you ever really love Lauren?"

"Never as much as you," he answers to my satisfaction, and then I lean forward and rest my head on his shoulder.

"Was she mad when you told her you wanted to come back to me?"

He pulls my head off of his shoulder and raises his eyebrows at me. "It's late, and we were on our way to bed. Is Lauren really what you want to talk about right now?"

Getting the hint, I know exactly what he's saying, so I answer with a deep and loving kiss. "Mm-mm," I murmur my negative response against his lips. Running my fingers into the hair above his neck, I pull him into an even deeper kiss, and love the way his hands on my back make the blood rush through my body expectantly.

He reluctantly pulls away and takes my hand, leading us to our room, passing through the living room to the front door to make sure it was locked, arming the security system in the foyer, turning off the lights that we pass, and once upstairs, checking to make sure the girls were soundly asleep in their beds. Each domestic act only makes me want him more, and by the time we reach our room with the door closed and locked to keep our girls from walking in at an awkward moment, I practically attack him, eagerly shaking with desire.

It was even better than I remembered. Every touch, every kiss, every whisper had so much more meaning knowing that we were married, with a wonderful, binding promise to be together forever. And by the time we were done, I was happily exhausted, resting comfortably in my husband's embrace.

Two hours later, I'm still lying wide-awake staring at our wedding picture on my nightstand, with Vaughn's arm casually draped over my waist. I can guess why that particular photo was the one I chose to frame and sit next to our bed—Vaughn and I were staring at each other, and it's evident from the looks on our faces that we're very much in love. I'm sure that out of all of our wedding photos there must be somewhere in this house, that this one was my favorite. I looked so happy that day, and I can just imagine what I was feeling—something very similar to the sated bliss I'm feeling right now.

I was sure Vaughn was asleep until I hear him ask in a whisper, "You okay?"

I smile absently, loving the way his worry for me doesn't change, no matter how many years have passed or how much his stress has lessened after I left the CIA. "I guess I'm afraid to go to sleep, in case this is for real—I don't want to lose this." He kisses my neck in understanding, and squeezes me tighter. "There are still a lot of things I don't understand about this life. How we got here from where we were, what we've experienced together, or-or what we have planned for the future. This is all so new to me."

Pulling gently on my hip, he rolls me toward him, and strokes my face lightly with his fingertips. "Go to sleep, Syd. You're going to drive yourself crazy. And tomorrow's Christmas...you don't ruin it for the girls, do you?" I shake my head and as his hand comes to rest on my hip again, he promises, "I'll answer anything else you want to know tomorrow."

Somehow I'm able to trust that I'll still be in this reality when I wake up. "Okay," I answer with a slight smile, silently praying that I will be. Reaching up to touch his cheek, I whisper, "Vaughn?" He smiles again with his eyes closed, sleepily murmuring a response for me to continue. "I love you," I finally get to say directly to him.

His eyes open again as his smile widens. "I love you too," he answers as if he's said it a thousand times. But actually it's the first time I've ever heard him say those words in the present tense. He snuggles me close and then murmurs into my hair, "I always have."

- - - - - - -


	4. Chapter 4

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**Chapter 4:**

When I wake up to the sound of the alarm the next morning, I'm a little scared to open my eyes to see just exactly where I was. Had it all been just a wonderful, achingly horrible dream? A bittersweet hallucination that abruptly came to an end without any warning or time to prepare myself?

As much as I would like to procrastinate finding out, I still slowly blink my eyes open to see where I am, and before I can even focus on what I see around me, I feel an arm slip around my stomach and pull me close, and Vaughn mumbling, "'Morning."

I can't help but smile to find that this was real, recognizing the furniture I'd admired last night still in the room. I roll over to my other side to face Vaughn and happily grin at him. "Good morning." I reach out to touch his shoulder for additional reassurance. "I'm still here."

He smiles. "You seem surprised. Did you really think you wake up and find it was all a dream?"

"Yes," I answer truthfully. "I'm glad it's not."

"Me too," he half-grins at me.

I scoot closer to him and bury my head into his chest, marveling the fact that my life includes sharing it with the man I love. "I could stay in bed like this all day," I sigh contentedly, with my eyes closed and no fear that he'll disappear when I open them again.

"Me too, but the girls will be up before we know it."

"Mmm, so what?"

His chest rumbles when he chuckles lightly. "Well, I'll let that go, considering you still don't remember how early they get up in the morning—especially on Christmas. In fact, I'll bet they'll be at our door, waiting for us to get up within the next, oh…" he raises his head slightly to look at the clock on my nightstand, "fifteen minutes."

"Can't they just take care of themselves?"

"You _really_ don't know anything about kids," he laughs again. "I'd forgotten that." Kissing my head, he says, "Come on. Let's get _them_ up this year."

By the time I ask, "What?" in surprise, he's already up and pulling on his boxers.

He explains as he pulls on his pants, "The last three Christmases, Francie and Emily have been the ones to wake us up by jumping on our bed and yelling that it's morning. I say this year it's _their_ turn," he says playfully; his eyes lowering in a mischievous manner.

I actually giggle with the thought and jump up to join him, quickly searching through my drawers for a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt to wear. As soon as we're dressed, we stand by the door and he opens it slowly, listening to see if they're up yet. Hearing nothing but silence in the hall, we tiptoe into the older girls' room and sneak in between their matching twin beds. Vaughn silently points to Francie and then me, and then to Emily and himself, assigning one for each of us. Then he counts by holding up his fingers: _one, two, three_, and we simultaneously jump on their beds, yelling, "Wake up! It's Christmas!!"

The girls hardly notice at first, so we start tickling them awake, and after a while, I can't tell who's laughing more—them or me. We end up all on one bed in one big, jumbled, tickling pile until we can't take it anymore, and as we slowly settle down, we hear Jane crying from her room.

Vaughn and I look at each other, and he starts to stand to go get her when I stop him. "No, let me get her," I tell him, and get up to leave the room. I might as well get used to doing those normal, average things I did _before_ this apparent memory loss. And maybe it'll help bring back those memories I'm missing.

She's sitting in her crib crying when I come into her room, and when she looks up at me, I can tell by the look on her angelic face what was wrong with her. She was afraid. Apparently all of the noise we were making woke her up and upset her.

She stands up when I reach out for her, and she clings to me when I pick her up. I hug her silently for a moment, straining to remember _anything_ about this life I've let slip away from me. "You okay?" Vaughn's voice behind me startles me, and when I turn to answer him, I realize I have tears in my eyes.

Drying my eyes with one hand, I ask in a whisper, "Where are the girls?"

"They're getting dressed before we go downstairs. What's wrong?" he steps inside the room and closes the door most of the way.

"I just…hate that I still can't remember them." Janie eyes are big as she looks up at me, silently sucking her thumb again. "It's like I skipped over our entire relationship—like the past ten years didn't exist for me at all. And what if I never remember? How is that going to affect our daughters?"

He closes the distance between us, and holds my arms with Janie between us. "Syd, do you remember yesterday?" he asks without hesitation.

"Yes," I answer, curious as to where he's going with this line of questioning.

"Then let's build on that. And tomorrow, we'll build on what you remember from today." He then hugs me sideways and says, "And if your memory never comes back, you'll at least have the memories of _this_ Christmas to start with."

"Can we go downstairs now?" Francie asks from the door just as I'm opening my mouth to argue with him.

Emily adds a pleading, "We're _dressed_, Mom."

Vaughn's look is asking me to believe him, and with a glance at the girls and back at him, my face relaxes, and I nod. "Let's go downstairs and see what you got!" I say happily to them, partly to cheer myself up and get back into the holiday mood.

They turn and run down the stairs and Jane squirms to get down to follow them. I set her down and she's running practically before her feet hit the floor. Vaughn and I hurry after her, each of us taking one of her hands to help her maneuver the stairs to keep her from falling. Each step is a challenge for her little legs and by the time we reach the bottom, the older girls are out of sight.

We hear Francie and Emily's squeals of delight over their unwrapped gifts before we even reach the interior of the living room, and then we spend the next half an hour playing with Francie's dollhouse, sitting Emily on her bike, and showing Jane how to sit on and push the scooter across the room. Emily reminds us about the stockings, so they each get to dump out and inspect the contents of those as well.

When the newness of all of their things sufficiently wears off, Francie asks, "Can we open our presents now?"

"How about we eat breakfast first?" Vaughn suggests and the kids groan their objections.

Somehow we manage to convince them that eating first would be a _good _idea, so that they'd have more time to play with their new toys, and we all sit at the bar in the kitchen, eating cereal and drinking orange juice.

We eat fast, and we're back in the living room within the hour. The girls open their gifts first in a flurry, showing us each one as if we didn't know what they were getting. It was good for me though, because I really _didn't_ know.

Vaughn opens a few of his and thanks me for each one. They were average things that he would use, but definitely not the best gifts I could've come up with—a cordless shaver, a nice suit shirt, and a pair of fuzzy, bedroom slippers that made us both laugh.

It didn't even occur to me that I hadn't opened any gifts myself as I watch all of the fun, until Vaughn commented on it. I'd been sitting on the floor with Vaughn among the mess, helping the girls get their toys out of their packaging and showing Jane how her new toys worked when Vaughn quickly looks under the tree and grabs a small, square box and holds it out to me. "Here. Open this one first," he says with a smile, sitting back on the couch.

I admit I'm a little excited as I get up to sit next to him and unwrap the red and green paper, and open the box inside. I pull out the item wrapped in tissue paper and uncover it to reveal a very familiar snow globe. "Vaughn…" I breathe emotionally. My throat starts to close up and I swallow the sob to ask curiously, "How did you…"

"You told me about that a few years ago, and I finally found that one on my last trip to Langley. Is it the right one?"

"It's _exactly_…" my voice trails off as I remember the last Christmas I had with both my parents when I was little. My mother had given me the same globe that was now among the losses in my old apartment, and she had explained how important it was that I take good care of it. And after she'd "died", it sat on my dresser everyday, and I would occasionally shake it up and stare at it to remember her. As an adult though, I often compared my own life to the inhabitants of the globe; swirling around chaotically, waiting for their lives to settle. I'd wondered when and _if_ the chaos of my life would ever settle around me and I could finally be content. Looking around the room at my family through my tearful eyes, I realized it finally had. "Thank you," I whisper to my husband and I'm rewarded with his sweetest smile.

Francie had been crawling under the tree checking for more presents and found one hidden out of sight. "Dad," she says, pointing behind the couch. "There's a present back there with your name on it."

"There is?" He leans over the back of the couch to see it. Finding that it was a larger box than he thought, he reaches with both hands to pick it up. He sets it on his lap when he sits back down. "Hmm, it's from Mommy," he says, reading the tag, glancing over at me. Of course, he knows that I have no idea what it is either. He opens the box in short order, and pulls out a gorgeous guitar. "Wow, Syd, it's beautiful," he says, running his hands over the smooth wood. "Thank you."

Leaning toward him, I ask in a whisper, "Do you _play_ the guitar?"

He nods and answers quietly, "In high school. You know, with a last name like 'Vaughn', I figured I might be good at it…" he raises an eyebrow teasingly. "Are you surprised?"

"Yeah," I admit. "I never pictured you as a musician."

"Calling me a 'musician' is giving me way too much credit. I just played for the fun of it."

I kiss him then, letting my lips linger with this new knowledge of Vaughn on my mind. "Play something, Dad." Francie interrupts our moment.

"Oh, okay. Um…" He plays a verse of "Jingle Bells" and sings with the girls until the mantel clock chimes, signifying that it's ten o'clock and he stops and looks up. "Oh, it's getting late. We'd better get ready to go." He puts the guitar on the couch as he stands up. "Mom's flight comes in at eleven," he says, bending to pick up wrapping paper off the floor.

I stand up in a panic and pick up the paper up off the couch, crumbling it into a ball and follow him. "Vaughn, I'm not ready—" I stop when I notice the girls are listening intently to our conversation. Smiling at them to throw them off, I discreetly pull him toward the kitchen. "I've never met her!" I squeak once we're safely on the other side of the door.

He takes the garbage from me and walks over to casually toss it in the can under the sink. "Sure you have. She was at our wedding—"

"_Vaughn_!" I emphasize to his back, reminding him of my current state.

He turns toward me and holds my shoulders for me to look into his eyes. "Syd. You're going to be okay. She knows you. She _loves _you. Just…go with it."

"She knows everything?" I raise my eyebrows at him.

His eyes drop to the floor before rising up to meet mine again. "No," he admits. "We decided not to tell her anything about your mother. And she believes that she died when you were six."

"So she loves me only _because_ she doesn't know everything," I surmise.

"You're overreacting."

"Am I? Your mother doesn't know who I am, Vaughn! She _deserves_ to know that I'm the daughter of the woman that killed her husband!"

"Syd," he says, shaking his head. "It's Christmas. Can't you just let it go until after the holidays?"

He has a point. I wouldn't want my mother-in-law disowning me during the holiday season, and ruin it for everyone involved. "Alright," I concede. "But after the first of the year, we're going to tell her."

He seems hesitant to agree, but he finally does. He nods and kisses me and then walks toward the door separating the kitchen from the living room.

"Vaughn?"

He stops and looks back at me. "Yeah?"

Shaking my head, I tell him, "I don't want anybody to know about the accident or the amnesia. It'll only make everyone feel sorry for me."

I can tell from his expression that he understands. "Okay." He points to the door. "Do you want to clean up or get Janie dressed to go?"

A smile slowly grows on my face and I wrinkle my nose at him. "Janie."

He pushes at the door to open it, and lightly complains, "Sure. Pick the _fun_ job."

- - - - - - -

A/N: Two more chapters to come this evening - thanks again for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: First of all, I'm sorry I didn't get the next two chapters posted last night as promised, but I realized that if I had, the story would be finished today. So instead, I'll post the last two chapters tomorrow on Christmas Eve, just because it's more fitting.

Also, I got distracted watching "Comfort and Joy" on TV late last night, since it was the movie that inspired this fic, and it was the first time I've seen it this season. I seriously need to get it on DVD. Tee hee.

Anyway, enjoy!

- - - - - - -

**Chapter 5:**

The girls love the airport, and they really kept me distracted from thinking about the woman I was getting ready to meet—or meet _again_ in her case. The security fears after 9/11 had apparently lessened over the ten years because we were able to walk all the way to the gate to meet their plane. The girls were all chattering about the planes as we walked, and seeing Grandma and Grandpa Jonas, Vaughn's stepfather. And it isn't until the door to the gangplank opens, and the passengers start to stream out toward us, that I start to prepare myself.

I'm consider my greeting for this woman whose son I love so much and I know just from that, that she must be incredible. _'Hi, nice to meet you.' No! 'Hello, Mrs. Vaughn, good to see you again.' Oh wait! Her last name isn't Vaughn! What is it? Did Vaughn tell me what it was?_ Thinking quickly, I lean toward him and whisper, "What do I call her?"

"'Mom'," he whispers back, just as he sees his mother and walks forward to greet her and Jonas. "Bonjour, Maman!" he says, easily slipping right back into speaking French as they hug and kiss, and her and Jonas are bombarded with our girls hugging their legs.

I'm rooted to the spot watching the whole scene as the entire group approaches me. Amélie is carefully studying me. "Sydney, darling. You look pale. Are you alright?"

As I look at her, I can see where my husband gets his worry wrinkles. Hers are out n full force as I assure her with a smile, "I'm fine, Maman."

I lean in to kiss her cheek, but as I pull away, I see she is not convinced. Her expression changes slightly, and she leans in to whisper, "Are you pregnant?"

"No," I laugh, and then think about it. _I guess I could be. There weren't any birth control pills in the bathroom cabinet…_

"No Mom. She just got another shot a week ago, right Syd?" Michael subtly reminds me.

I nod thankfully. "Right."

"Well, it's good to see you again, honey," she says, surprising me by pulling me into a warm embrace.

Jonas is just as happy to see us all, having been graciously adopted into the family as much as I apparently was, and he too gives a hug to each of us.

By the time we get home, the girls have chatted to their grandparents during the entire trip, and I'm sure they're worn out, especially after the long flight from France. As soon as we get inside the house, I tell the girls to play in their rooms until we eat, and then show Mom and Jonas to Baby Jane's room that also serves as our guest bedroom, so that they could rest a while before dinner.

They didn't seem to notice anything different about me, although Vaughn had to remind me of a couple of little things now and then in front of them. And hiding the bruise on my head was easy considering my past—always having to conceal injuries from my unsuspecting roommates over the years—and I was just glad I still had a lot of cover-up available in my bathroom cabinet.

Vaughn and I feed the girls a light lunch while their grandparents are napping, and while he's putting the younger two down for their naps and Francie in the living room to play, I attempt to start dinner. I manage to find a handy cookbook in the kitchen with some pretty good instructions and then I set about finding all of the ingredients I need for the stuffing. I come up short a couple of items, and I'm in a mild panic by the time Vaughn comes back into the kitchen to help me.

"Vaughn, I don't know what the hell I'm doing," I tell him, leaning over the cookbook holding my head in my hand. "I don't even have everything I need. I haven't even started and I'm already _failing_ at this!"

"You're doing fine, Syd. Just calm down—"

"Damnit, Vaughn. I am _not_ Martha Stewart!!

"I know you're not, but—"

I interrupt him again, "I don't know how to do—" His lips suddenly on mine shuts me up, and my fists loosen at my sides and I wrap my arms around him. I'm immediately calmed by his kiss combined with the feeling of his hands on my back pulling me tight against him.

When he finally releases me, he keeps me close and rests his forehead against mine. My mind is cloudy and I actually feel a little weaker. "We'll do it together, Syd," he whispers. "I want to help, but we're going to have to take this one step at a time."

"Okay," I breathe, still trying to regulate my heart rate after feeling the passion in his kiss.

He relaxes his grip on me and asks, "So, what are you working on?"

I reluctantly pull away from him and turn again to the book. "Well, I was starting with the stuffing, but we don't have any celery, green onions..."

He looks thoughtful. "Wait a minute," he says and then goes to the pantry, pulling out a container of stuffing mix. "Will this help?"

I stare at the container curiously. "Isn't that cheating? Won't everyone know that we didn't make it from scratch?"

"I won't tell if you won't," he promises and my face brightens.

"That's brilliant. Thanks." I start to measure out the stuffing and pour it into the bowl in front of me, while Vaughn retrieves the turkey that had been thawing in the refrigerator over the last couple of days. As we begin to stuff the fat bird, I ask him about our lives, including the girls' personalities over the years.

"Francie's very independent and curious," he tells me as he holds open the cavity and I shovel in the dressing, spoonful by spoonful.

"Yeah, I got that. She always seems to be watching me and asking questions."

"Mm-hmm. That's our girl. She almost always does what she's told, but she's also the sneaky instigator that gets both her and Emily in trouble." With the turkey stuffed, he begins to pin and tie closed the opening. "Emily's just the opposite. She'll do things she knows she's not supposed to right in front of us just for the attention. She even broke her arm last year when she fell off a jungle gym at the park, showing off on the monkey bars, even though we told her she was too small for them."

"Ouch. Poor little girl."

He carries the turkey in the pan to the preheated oven and slides it inside to cook. "Yeah. She fell right on her elbow and broke the tip. She had to have a pin put in and have the tiniest cast on for weeks." He points to the stuffing container again. "Should we make more?"

Quickly calculating how much is inside the turkey, I nod. "I think so. Just in case. But later. We don't want it to get cold." He washes his hands as I put the dirty dishes we were using in the sink and I ask, "What's Janie been like so far?"

Drying his hands, he leans his hips up against the counter and smiles widely. "She's absolutely sweet…and special to you. Me too, of course, but she's definitely a Momma's girl."

_I thought so_, I imagine as he gives me the towel so I can dry my hands too. Something about the little girl just pulled at my heartstrings and I couldn't help but hold her in a special place. I turn my body slightly to look up at him and ask softly, "Did…we ever talk about trying again for a boy?"

His face slowly turns into a grin. "Well, yeah. But, we didn't want to really try because it was so difficult just having Janie."

"Well…I think we _could_ try again."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I'd like to have at least _one_ child that I remember giving birth to."

"I thought women usually liked to _forget _childbirth."

"I guess," I glance down. "But it's like that old saying, 'Be careful what you wish for.' Once the memory is gone, you wish you had it."

"You still might remember everything someday. And what then? What if you remember your resolve not to have any more kids?"

"I don't know," I shrug. "But can we at least talk about it some time after the holidays?"

"Sure."

Amélie comes into the kitchen then with Janie on her hip and asks if there's anything she can do to help. "I hope you don't mind that I got her out of bed. She was wide awake."

"No, of course not," I remove my apron and take my youngest from her arms. "Hi, Janie. Did you have a good nap?"

"Mama? Joos?" she points to her sippy cup from breakfast on the counter beside the sink and sticks her thumb back in her mouth.

"You want juice? Okay, I'll get you some juice," I say as I walk to the refrigerator.

"Dilute it," Vaughn tells me. "Half juice, half water."

"Okay."

"Do you always tell her what to do, Michel?" Amélie asks curiously. "That is not good for a healthy marriage."

"Oh, uh…" he stumbles, looking to me for an answer.

"He took Janie to the doctor the last time, and…that's what the doctor told him for us to do. He's just reminding me," I lie, only somewhat easily.

"Oh," Amélie nods, but once again she's not really buying it. "Well, is there anything I can help you with?"

The doorbell rings and Vaughn offers to take Jane and get it, leaving Amélie and I alone. She turns to me for an answer, so I explain, "Well, Vau—_Michael_ and I just stuffed the turkey and put it in the oven, so I guess that's it for a few hours until we have to make the side dishes."

"You made the pies yesterday?"

"Pies?" I ask sheepishly. "Um," I quickly check the refrigerator again to see if they would miraculously appear. "No."

"Well, let's get busy then. What were you planning?"

"I…I…don't know," I say as I shake my head.

I can feel tears forming in my eyes when she asks, "Where's your pantry?"

Curiously, I show her to the small closet in the corner of the room, and she begins to search through the cans. "Leave it to me. I'll take care of everything."

"No…Mom," I protest. "You're a guest here. You shouldn't be doing anything."

She pulls out a can of pumpkin that had miraculously appeared—I swear it wasn't there earlier—and taps the back of my hand and says, "It's no trouble. It makes me feel useful anyway."

"Thank you," I whisper, although it didn't seem like enough because she was being so understanding when she shouldn't be.

"I remember what it was like when William and I were first starting out. Our first holiday together was a disaster—I burned everything and we ate three hours late," she laughs. "And I think it took about fifteen years before I had everything working like clockwork. By then William was gone, so Michael was the only one I was cooking for," she says quietly and I automatically add another layer of guilt. "I always appreciated having someone to help when I needed it."

"Look who's here," Michael comments as he comes back into the kitchen with his best friend in tow.

"Weiss!" I say excitedly and round the counter to hug him. "It's so good to see you!"

"What's with you, Syd?" he asks, pushing me away from our hug to look at me.

"What do you mean?"

"You see us all the time. We live next door."

_Oops_. He's watching me like everyone else has since yesterday, so I rush to explain, "I know. It just…_seems_ like it's been a long time. It's been at least since…" I leave the sentence dangling, hoping he'll fill in the blanks.

"Tuesday?" he answers for me.

"Yeah, you know, it's just the holidays have me so busy…" I let my voice trail off and then, picking up on the 'we' and 'us' he used, I say, "Where's…"

"Amy?"

"Yeah, Amy. She's…"

"In the living room?" Keeping the confused look on his face, he explains, "She's putting the presents we brought under the tree and talking to Francie and Jane." He still looks suspicious of me. "Are you sure you're okay?" he finally asks.

"I'm fine. Why?"

"You're just acting really strange."

_I've already used the holiday excuse, _I remind myselfSo I just smile and shrug and distract him by asking if he'd like something to drink. "Sure. Coke is fine. And Amy will have Sprite. You know, no caffeine."

I nod as if I know what he's talking about and make their drinks. "Vau—_Michael_, why don't you take W—_Eric_ into the living room and I'll be there in a minute."

Vaughn nods and picks up both cups, handing Eric's to him and the two men leave the room. I turn to Amélie preparing to ask her what she needs me to do to help on her conquest of pie-making and she gestures toward the door. "Go on. Visit with your friends. I'll be fine."

Rounding the counter, I hug her again. "You have no idea how much I appreciate you. Thank you for being here."

"Thank you for having me," she says as we step apart. "And I'm pleased to. You're the best thing to happen to Michael. I've never seen him so content with his life. He was always restless before he met you."

Secretly, I wondered when she thought that was. Did he tell her we met back when we really did, or did we make up something about his meeting me after he split up with Lauren? I couldn't ask her, I knew, so I just pushed it to the back of my mind as something to ask Vaughn later.

Leaving her to work on the pies with a smile on my face, I walk out of the kitchen to meet this 'Amy' that managed to capture Weiss' heart. Her back is to me when I come in, as she sits on the floor playing with Janie. Her short, frosted blonde hair is unrecognizable and as I wonder how she and Weiss met, I remind myself to act like I already know her.

"Mama," Janie says when she sees me and I answer my daughter with a smile as 'Amy' gets up off of her knees to turn and greet me.

I wasn't prepared for her face that I immediately recognized, despite her different hairdo. She was none other than Amy Tippin. "_Amy_??" My mouth is agape and drops even more when I look down and notice her very large stomach. "And you're-you're…_pregnant_?"

She looks at me funny. "Sydney, are you alright?"

My face blanches when I remember my current situation and I start to feel dizzy as I look around at all of the eyes watching me. Vaughn's are the only ones that are understanding, so I shake my head and say, "No, I, um…I… Vaughn, can I talk to you?"

I walk toward him before waiting for his answer and demand with my eyes for him to follow me. He does and I lead him into the office, closing the door. "Why didn't you tell me that Weiss is married to Amy _Tippin_?" I demand angrily in a harsh whisper.

"I'm sorry, Syd. I'm--"

"_You're_ sorry? I just made a fool out of myself!" I point in the direction of the living room. "They all think I'm nuts! Why didn't you--"

"Because I'm used to you _knowing_ these things about our life, Sydney!" My mouth clamps shut with my unspoken argument on my lips when I realize he's right. He continues, "I'm not used to your memory loss this time because I _remember_ every wonderful minute of the last ten years with you, Syd, when the last time, I only remembered _missing _you every minute we were apart." My breath catches in my throat at the same time burning tears form in my eyes from his confession.

I step into his waiting arms as one of those tears falls down my cheek. "I'm sorry," I tell him with my head on his shoulder.

"And I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Eric and Amy." We both take a breath to calm down "At least you already know her, right?"

I laugh in spite of my misty tears, wipe my eyes, and lean back to look at him. "How the _hell _did Weiss end up with _Amy_?" They were about as far away on the similarity scale than any two people on earth. Where Weiss had corny jokes and magic tricks, Amy had wild-colored hair and earrings all over her body.

Vaughn cracked a smile. "Well, they met at our wedding, and ended up talking to each other for hours every time we had a party. After a while, they finally started getting together on their own and Eric finally got his butt in gear and proposed. They've been married about four years and they live next door."

"And the baby?"

"It will be their first, and probably the only one, considering how much controversy having this baby has caused. Eric wanted five, Amy didn't want any, so one's a compromise for them."

I shake my head in amazement, still stunned that my two worlds from my former life have completely collided. "Are there any more surprises I need to know about?"

He tilts his head back to think about that for a moment. "Hmm…well, Will's married to Julie—you know that. Oh, he met her at a funeral—she was a sister of one of the agents we lost during Sloane's raid. Will tried to save his life by performing CPR that day, but…" his voice trails off and I nod somberly as he gets back to the subject we were on. "He and Julie have officially been together for about seven years."

"Officially?" I question curiously.

"Yeah, she was in an abusive relationship when they first met. Will got you to teach her self-defense and she eventually left her scumbag fiancé with a black eye, for Will." He looks at his watch. "They should be stopping by soon. And Dixon might be coming over too. If he does, he'll probably be with his 'friend' Jean. He calls her a 'friend', but they spend so much time together that we've all been trying to talk them in to getting married." He raises an eyebrow. "You especially."

I know why, especially if she makes him happy. "Well, he deserves it as much as anybody." Wondering if there's any more, I ask, "Is that it?"

"Oh, Marshall and Carrie have a little girl _and_ a boy now, but they're still not married, although they live together. There in D.C. with her family for the holidays, so we probably won't see them again until after the first of the year. They came by a few days ago for dinner."

I hold up a hand when a thought crosses my mind. "Wait, who's staying for dinner tonight?"

"Oh, just our parents. Will and Julie and Eric and Amy are going to the Tippins' for dinner. They're just visiting us for a little while so we can exchange gifts."

"Did we get them gifts?"

"Yes. You did." The doorbell rings, and he looks toward the door and then back at me. "Are you going to be okay now?"

"Yeah, I think so," I tell him; searching my brain for any other questions I might have. When I realize I don't have any, I begin, "Thank you for…" leaving the sentence dangling as I try to think how to word what I'm trying to say.

"For what?" he asks when I don't continue.

The words slip out of my mouth naturally, "For being you."

- - - - - - -


	6. Chapter 6

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**Chapter 6:**

Fortunately, Will and Julie's arrival keeps me from having to explain my little jumble with Weiss and Amy earlier and I get to meet this woman who I apparently took under my wing. She hands me a beautiful poinsettia plant as a gift when they come in, and I immediately make a home for it on the entry table, thanking her with what feels like a natural hug.

As I'm hugging Will in greeting, I remember the last time I saw him, after I'd pulled him out of witness protection to help me. He had gone back to that life the last I knew, so how in the world he ended up back with the CIA when Sloane raided the place was beyond me. He too looks like he always did, except for the new, satisfied look I see in his eyes as he wraps his arm around his tiny wife's waist.

We invite them into the living room and I start to get to know Julie better. She's short but feisty, with long, thick, curly, reddish-brown hair. She smiles a lot, and can get their three-year-old son Matthew to obey with just a stern look. I like her immediately, and I can tell that whatever self-defense I taught her must have boosted her self-confidence as well. She _knows_ who she is and would _never _let a man take advantage of her again like her former fiancé had. Will obviously respects her, but I would've expected nothing less from him.

I convince my mother-in-law to come out of the kitchen with her husband, who was keeping her company, and together the twelve of us laugh and joke for the next two hours. Vaughn and I don't let on about my problem, and I keep quiet most of the time, just listening and learning about our friends and their lives.

When we exchange presents, I get the surprise of my life. Not from a gift I receive, but from one we bought for Will. It's a gorgeous, brown, leather, bomber jacket. I remembered how he used to rave over them when we were living together—he always wanted one. So, fortunately, any misgivings he might have had if I had acted differently since their arrival today, disappeared when I told him that I knew he always wanted one. I did say, however, "I hope you don't already have one."

To which he replied, "I lost it. You remember. On that mission to Helsinki."

_Mission? To Helsinki? Was he field-rated? _Another set of questions to add to ever-growing mound for my husband. I just nod and say, "Oh, that's right," to throw him off.

Will doesn't seem to notice. "Thank you, guys," he says, rising off of his chair to hug me again.

Julie seems to respect our relationship enough not to worry about anything that transpires between her husband and I because she smiles widely in response. "That's beautiful, Syd," she says, running her fingers over the leather. "Where'd you find it? I've been looking for a jacket like that for months."

I glance at Vaughn and he discreetly points at his chest before allowing his hand to continue on up to his jaw for a fake scratch. I get the hint. "Actually, Vaughn found it."

"Yeah, on one of my trips," he adds, to take the attention off of me.

But it backfires when Will looks at me again. "'Vaughn'?" He looks between us both. "Are you guys fighting or something?"

"Um, no! We're great," I assure him. Glancing at Vaughn again, I notice his half-grin beginning to grow. "Better than ever, in fact," my voice continues, although my eyes never leave Vaughn's face.

"I guess…old habits die hard then," Will says as my husband and I pry our eyes from one another. I notice Will is still watching me suspiciously, but Matthew comes over to him and puts his new truck into his dad's lap and asks Will to 'get it outta' 'da box, Dad,' luckily taking the focus off of my memory loss again.

There aren't any more big incidents for a while, and I was beginning to think I was pulling off a pretty good act until I go into the kitchen to refill drinks, and Weiss corners me. "What's up with you?"

"What are you talking about?" I counter lightly, as I fill the cups with ice from the freezer door.

"Come on, Syd. How many times was I there for you when Mike couldn't be, huh? You can still confide in me, you know."

I set the cups on the island. "Thanks, Weiss, but I'm telling you I'm fine."

"Well, you just proved to me that you aren't."

Unscrewing the cap of a two-liter of soda, and looking up at him, I ask, "What do you mean?" I'm praying as I pour the drinks that he's bluffing.

"You just called me by my last name and you been doing the same thing to Mike all afternoon." I look down, embarrassed, setting the bottle back down. "Now, you haven't called us that since before you left the CIA, so I'd like to know what's the matter with you."

I lean on my hands on the counter and lock my elbows and know it's useless to hide it any more. "I bumped my head last night…" I confess with my eyes squeezed shut, "and since then I've been having a hard time remembering some things." _That's an understatement, _I think as I replace the cap on the soda.

"My God. How? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," I wave him off. "It was just a bump on the head, Eric," I purposely use his first name in order to get used to it. "It's no big deal. I just…don't want anyone to know, okay?"

He watches me for a moment and then slowly nods. "Okay. But just for the record, I think you should go to the doctor."

I nod. "Michael has said the same thing," I tell him, and then notice that I called Vaughn by his first name as well and how easily it slipped out. Maybe I'm getting better—or it's finally sinking in. "If I'm not better by Monday, I promise I'll go in."

"Okay." He picks up two of the cups for us to return to the living room. "I'm going to hold you to it, you know."

"I know," I smile, thankful to know I have friends who still care about me that much.

Weiss keeps his word and doesn't say anything to the others. And soon after our talk, Dixon drops by as expected with his 'friend' Jean, with a plate of homemade gingerbread cookies in her hands. They're delicious, I discover, as she shares them with everyone, and we parents make sure the kids don't spoil their appetites.

I watch Jean as we all visit and I can see what Dixon sees in her. She's beautiful, but maybe a little on the flashy side, with her pounds of jewelry and extra long, manicured, and overly decorated nails. She doesn't seem to adapt well with the kids and perhaps that's the reason _why _they're still only friends. Briefly, I wonder what _his_ kids think of her, especially after he tells me that the reason they're not visiting with them is that they're having Christmas dinner with their aunt's family. _Hmm… Maybe he's trying to win her over. Or maybe he really only thinks of her as a friend. Or maybe Sydney should just keep her big nose out of everybody's business,_ I think before forcing myself to listen in again to the conversation.

After a while, they all have to leave to make it in time for their own dinners. The Weiss' and the Tippins' are off to the elder Tippins' house, and Dixon and Jean are headed to some restaurant they discovered, besides _Denny's_, that's actually _open_ on Christmas day. I extend the offer for them to stay for dinner with us, but they decline, and I'm left with more questions on my mind that only Vaughn can answer, as they walk out the door behind Will's and Eric's families.

As I watch them drive away from my position behind our front living room window, Amélie reminds me that we should start preparing the side dishes for dinner, so I nod and the two of us go back into the kitchen to cook, while Michael takes the girls outside as promised, to ride their bikes before it got dark.

She has me work on the easier things—the stuffing, sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes, and green bean casserole—while she works on the squash, homemade cranberry sauce, rolls, and gravy. She has the kitchen running efficiently, although there are at least six things cooking at once. I honestly don't know how she does it.

She asks how the girls are doing in school, among other things, and I answer as generally as possible, avoiding any real noticeable discrepancies. Once I find a break in all of my tasks, I use the excuse of setting the table for a reprieve, gathering up the necessary dishes and napkins. Michael comes into the dining room as I start to put the plates in front of the chairs. "Need help?"

I look up with a smile. "Sure." He takes the plates and finishes what I was doing so that I can pull the cloth napkins through the napkin rings. "Where are the girls?"

"They're playing in the living room. How are you feeling?"

"Good." I glance around at the entrances to the room and finding that we're completely alone, I admit, "I have so many questions, it's ridiculous, but…I think I'm really settling into this."

He slowly smiles. "That's good. What kind of questions?"

I sigh with the number of them that pop into my head. "Too many for you to answer right now," I say and then laugh frustratedly. "I think it would be a lot easier if I could just remember."

"Yeah, it would," he agrees. "But—" he stops and shrugs while shaking his head, dropping his gaze back to the table.

My hands stop working as I look up at him. "What is it?" I ask curiously.

He seems really hesitant, but I can tell that the inquisitive look in my eyes is enough to convince him that he should tell me. "Don't…take this the wrong way," he starts apprehensively. "But…I've missed you."

My face scrunches in confusion. "What? I thought—"

"Don't worry—you've always been here, in our house, but lately…you've been so busy with the kids…that…" his voice trails off and looks down again.

I put down the remaining napkins in a pile and round the table to be close to him. "Michael, tell me."

Before answering, he lifts a hand to my cheek, and rubs it lightly with his thumb. "You and I…haven't been this close in a long time," he confesses, and my heart sinks.

"We weren't happy? Or you weren't happy with me?" My heart practically stops as I ask the last question and wait for his answer.

"No-yes, of course, I'm happy with you. I always have been," he says quickly, stroking my cheek again. "But you spend so much of your energy and attention on the girls, that there's hardly left for me at the end of the day. I-I guess I've been…jealous." He takes a moment before admitting, "Last night was…fantastic."

With a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure we were still alone, I ask quietly, "You mean we had stopped making love?"

"Oh, no. It had just…gotten more infrequent. And I think when we did do it, it was more out of habit than anything."

I shake my head. "I don't understand. You didn't say anything about this last night. You seemed content with the way our lives were."

"I would never leave you, Sydney," he promises. "But when you were in that accident last night, you finally needed me again, and you haven't needed me for a long time. I-I just…_missed_ that."

"Vaughn…" I breathe, and then bury my face into his shoulder. "I am so sorry." _I've been a terrible wife._

"It's okay," he says, lifting my head to look back into my eyes. "You've always been independent—I knew that when I fell in love with you. Just don't forget to act like you need me once in a while."

As I peruse over my entire history with this man in front of me, I suddenly find myself shaking my head and smiling. "What's so funny?" he asks, as expected.

"Ten years ago, I had a _thousand_ reasons to need you, and I just think it's funny that they've all disappeared by now."

"Well, you always liked to handle everything on your own."

"And you like it when I ask you for help," I surmise.

"Sometimes," he nods. "Taking care of you is what I do best." He brushes his lips against mine, and then moves to my cheek, my eyelid, and ending on my forehead before releasing me with a loving grin.

I can't argue with what he said—or count the number of times on one hand that he helped me when I needed him. We quietly go back to our tasks, lost in our own thoughts. "So last night was better than before?" I finally break the silence.

"Yeah," he smiles at me again. "It was just like the old days."

He's humming softly as he works and I process everything he's said. It seems unreal that our sex life would have diminished no matter _how_ many years have passed. Especially when I think back to those nights before I woke up in this time and place. I would usually spend those hours between dusk and dawn, fantasizing about him to rid my mind from one of those horrifying nightmares I used to have. And I didn't realize it until now, but I hadn't had one since I 'arrived' here, nor had I even dreamt or thought once about Sloane _or_ his organization that was responsible to faking my death. "Hey, what ever happened to the Covenant?" I ask abruptly.

He looks up with mild surprise on his face. "Wow, talk about a subject change. What brought that up?"

The corners of my mouth curve into a grin. "Well, I don't know if I've ever told you this, but I used to think about you and me…in _that_ way, to calm myself down after my nightmares."

His eyebrows rise amusedly. "Oh, really? That _is_ something you've never told me before."

"Yeah, well…I'll tell you _more_ later," I tease as he bites his lip suggestively. I shake my head from side to side to get back to the subject. "Anyway, the Covenant?"

He bobs his head and lets his lips curve down to answer. "Oh, uh, it went down with Sloane's death."

"Just like that?"

He nods again. "Of course, a month later, we found out that the remaining members had started another organization, but by then you were pregnant."

"And I didn't want to go back to work after Francie was born to help bring them down?"

"Yeah, you did. But I reminded you that criminal organizations are _always_ a threat and you couldn't keep trying to save the world on your own. So you wisely decided to leave it up to the rest of the CIA."

I nod in understanding, but I'm still surprised that I was so willing to leave so easily. My last memory before I was catapulted into this life, was realizing that the only thing I had left was my job. _But that was ten years ago_, I remind myself. _A lot of things have changed since then. I have _this _life now. _Just yesterday, I was…_Where was I?_

"Michael?" I ask, and he looks up. "Why weren't we together yesterday? I mean, where was I coming from when I had the accident?"

"Oh, you had been out Christmas shopping for the girls."

"I was? But we didn't get the presents out of your car before we left it on the side of the road."

"You had already stopped at home, wrapped them, and put them in the closet by the time you had the accident." I stare at him perplexedly and he holds up a hand in a smiling defense. "Hey, my orders were to keep the girls away from the house long enough so you could do that and keep the illusion of Santa having stopped by our house real."

"I did that?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

I shrug. "I don't know. It just doesn't seem like me to want to keep up a fantasy."

He smiles. "Well, I guess motherhood has changed you more than you thought."

The doorbell rings again and Vaughn looks up. "There's your father. You ready?"

"Yeah." I set down the last napkin. "Can you get it? I just need a minute."

"Sure," he tells me, and walks toward the front of the house. I take a moment to prepare myself for facing my father, but when I hear my husband laughing as he welcomes him, I hurry up curiously to join him at the front door. Only I wasn't prepared for what I saw.

Jack Bristow…dressed head-to-toe in a Santa suit, complete with a snowy white beard. Now I _know_ I must be dreaming.

"_Dad_?" I say questioningly and he turns to greet me.

"Sweetheart," he kisses the side of my head; the Santa whiskers tickling my cheek. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. _Why_ are you wearing _that_?" I turn the attention back to him.

"I thought the girls would want to see Santa on Christmas. Where are they?"

"They're in the living room," I answer naturally, still staring at his attire.

"What?" he asks me. "Am I not allowed to enjoy the festivity of Christmas without scrutiny?"

I take a step back. "Of course! I just…_never_ thought you'd enjoy doing something like _this_."

"Well, I do. I am a grandfather now after all."

I can't argue with that. The girls come to the door just then to see him, and my dad gives Francie and Emily his best Santa routine, including his deep-voiced version of, "Ho, ho, ho."

Jonas also emerges from the living room, with Jane propped securely on her step-grandfather's arm and Amélie comes out from the kitchen. "Oh hello," she says to my father.

I could tell by the looks on their faces that our parents knew each other already—logically having met at our wedding. "Dad, you remember Michael's parents, Amélie and Jonas."

"Of course," he says, shaking each of their hands.

Amélie turns to me and says, "Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes."

"Okay. How about we all go in the living room then?" I say, reaching for my youngest when my father stops me with a hand on my arm.

"Janie," he says to her, holding out his hands to take her from my father-in-law. Jane eyes him cautiously, so he pulls the beard down far enough to show his face, and says, "Boo."

Recognizing him, she giggles and lunges for his arms, and he lifts her over his head, saying a myriad of baby words that I never thought I'd hear out of Jack Bristow's mouth. Then as he dances with her into the living room, he starts to sing in a deep voiced-Elvis fashion, "_Uh here comes Santa Claus uh, here comes Santa Claus uh, riding down Santa Claus lane…_"

That's when I start laughing until it hurts.

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A/N: That's my most favorite ending of a chapter EVAR. Thanks again for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Busy baking all day and finally got a chance to post these... Thank you for the reviews! I'm so glad you like this story. Here's the rest of it - enjoy and Merry Christmas!

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**Chapter 7:**

My dad takes off the Santa hat, beard, and jacket for dinner, and comes to the table in those ridiculous red pants and a plain white dress shirt he was wearing under the jacket. I quietly giggle every time I come into the dining room, as Amélie and I bring the dishes full of food in from the kitchen.

"It looks delicious, Sydney," he says as I finally sit down in my chair.

"Thank you, Dad. But Amélie deserves all the credit. She did most of the work."

"Oh, it was no trouble," she insists as everyone starts to make their plates, passing the food around the table.

Michael and I help the girls with theirs, cutting up their food for them in bite-size pieces, although he has to discreetly tell me what they will eat. Fortunately, it didn't look like our parents noticed as they served themselves.

We're about two-thirds of the way through our meal, making small talk as we eat, when I casually ask my dad how work was going. He looks at me suspiciously and sets his fork down on his plate before answering, "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"This is the third time you've asked me something you already know and that's been just during dinner."

"She's been asking questions about all of us, Grandpa," Emily pipes in.

Francie adds, "Yeah, since she had a car accident last night."

"And she calls Daddy by our last name now."

"And she didn't know Aunt Amy was having a baby—"

"Or that she was married to Uncle Eric—"

"_Girls_!" Michael shuts them up, but the damage has been done. I'm currently avoiding all the eyes that are watching me, including Michael's as he reaches for my hand and tries to explain. "Syd…sh-she drove her car off the road last night and hit a fence… She hit her head on the steering wheel—"

"My God!" Amélie cries out. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"She didn't want anyone to worry," Michael continues for me.

My father picks his napkin off his lap and slams it on the table as he gets up to walk around to me. "Damnit, Vaughn. Why didn't you take her to the hospital?"

"She asked me not to," he says just as my dad kneels in front of me and starts his own examination of my pupils and looking for where the bump might have been although it was now concealed under several layers of makeup.

He continues the argument. "You should have taken her anyway—"

"She felt fine—"

"She could have a concussion!" Dad jumps to his feet to turn to him.

"I know that, Jack!" Michael stands to face him and they start a full-blown shouting match. "But I was also trained to recognize the symptoms—"

"The memory loss is one of the biggest—that should have been your first clue!"

"It was! But—"

"You should have called me!"

"Alright, that's enough!" I yell as I jump up from my chair and look at both of them. "I am a full-grown woman who can make her own decisions about my health! If you want to know why I didn't go to the hospital, _I'll_ tell you why." I've gotten everybody's attention now, and they're all watching and waiting for me to continue. "Because it's Christmas. And I didn't want anybody's Christmas to be spoiled by a medical problem that wasn't even a real emergency—especially the girls. So what if I'm missing a few years worth of memories. They'll come back, and even if they don't, I'll always remember this Christmas as the best one I've ever had." I look from Michael to my father. "Until _now_, at least."

"How many 'years' are you missing?" This was from Amélie, still sitting in her chair at the other end of the table.

Looking back at the girls again, and noticing that they were done eating, and watching me a little too intently for my answer, I ask, "Girls? Can you go take your toys up to your room, so we grown-ups can talk for a few minutes?"

"Aw, Mom," Emily whines.

"Do we _have_ to?"

Jonas stands and sets his napkin on the table beside his plate. "I'll take care of them, so the four of you can talk."

"Thank you, dear," Amélie reaches for his hand and squeezes it as he walks around her to corral Francie and Emily out of the room, amidst their protests. He even gets Janie out of her high chair and takes her too, as she's busy making holes in her uneaten mashed potatoes with the spout of her upside-down sippy cup.

"Thank you, Jonas," I offer as well, as he walks around us to leave with Jane on his arm.

As soon as they're out of the room, I sit back down in my chair and avoid all of their eyes. When I do speak, my voice is quiet and hesitant. "The last thing I remember was…Christmas Eve…two-thousand-five."

"What?" Amélie exclaims, just as Jack speaks.

"Sydney, that was ten years ago."

"I know that, Dad."

Amélie is concerned. "You don't remember the girls? Or getting married?"

I shake my head somberly and meet her eyes. "Or meeting you," I admit. They're all quiet as I explain, "I know it was probably…an unwise decision not to go to the hospital, but once Michael had described what our life was like, I wanted to see it. I wanted to live it for a while. And the last thing I wanted to do was ruin the girls' Christmas by letting on that their own mother didn't remember them."

As they relax, Michael reclaims his chair and my father sits down in Emily's seat and leans forward on his arm. "You should still see a doctor, Sydney."

I'm nodding. "I've already made the decision to go on Monday, if nothing has changed by then. I just want to spend this weekend relaxing and enjoying what I have now because it's a hell of a lot better than the life I had before when I was completely alone."

"You weren't alone—"

"I was _too_ alone!" I argue with my father. "When you plan to spend Christmas Eve with a pint of ice cream and a bottle of scotch, you know just how _alone_ you really are! Where was your concern for me then?"

"Sydney, at that time I was busy trying to find out what had happened to you—who had been responsible--"

"Yeah, you were so focused on that, Dad, that you forgot to see how I was handling my first Christmas by myself." With my dad silenced, I slowly turn to Michael. "If you hadn't called that night…I don't want to think how miserable I would've been." Thinking back to how bitter I'd been just before the accident, I actually laugh lightly. "Even if I _did_ think you were going to tell me you were moving to get away from me so you could be happy with Lauren, at least you got me out of the house."

"You really thought that that's what I was going to tell you?"

"Yeah." I shake my head with a little astonishment. "I'm surprised I never told you that." I pull my gaze from him and look down at my hands. "You had started pulling away from me, avoiding me…I was sure you didn't want me around anymore."

"Oh, Syd." He pinches the bridge of his nose and leans his elbow on the table as if there was more to the story.

"I told him to back off," my dad admits and I turn to look at him.

"What?"

Michael explains, "Syd, the last thing either of us wanted was to see you get hurt."

"So you told Michael to avoid me?" I aim the question at my father. "You thought that would make it _easier_ on me?"

"I was only trying to help. Everything I've ever done for you has been with the best intentions, Sydney."

"I guess I know that, but Dad, you've interfered in my life too much. Can't you just be my father and let Michael and I make our own decisions? Or is all the interfering because you still don't trust Michael to take care of me?"

My dad leans forward with his elbows on the table. "Sydney, before your mother died, she asked me to make a promise to take care of you—to make sure you were always safe. And even though I wasn't really there for you growing up, I knew you were safe."

"Dad, since the day that I met Vaughn…that's been _his_ job. And I think he's been pretty damn good at it, if I've made it this far."

My father starts to rise to leave, as if he feels like he's no longer needed. "No, Dad. Sit down. I want you to stay. I want you in my life, just…let me live it." He sits back down, but he's apprehensive. "I know," I look around the table. "Let's all have some dessert."

He relaxes a little as Michael invites Jonas and the girls back into the dining room for a piece of pie. Amélie had made three—two pumpkin pies, and one apple, and as we start to eat it, I'm still amazed that she was able to find all of the ingredients in _my_ kitchen. _And_ they were probably the best I've ever had.

When we're through, my dad decides it's time for him to say goodnight, assuring me that he's holding no grudges. So after hugging and kissing the girls, and saying goodbye to Michael, Amélie, and Jonas, I walk him outside. "Dinner was nice," he says; more of a compliment than I'd expected from the stoic Jack Bristow, especially after telling him that Michael was doing _his_ job of protecting me and was doing it well. Of course, he was still wearing the Santa pants and carrying the hat, jacket, and beard in his hands, which was about ten times more sentiment than I'd ever thought possible.

"It _was_ nice," I answer. "It was the first real family meal I remember having since Mom—" I stop abruptly when I realize I'm about to ruin the end of a beautiful family day.

"It's okay, Sydney," he anticipates what I was going to say. "I was just thinking the same thing." He and I share a moment of understanding; I know that there are certain things that will never change—we both still care deeply about her. "Take care of yourself," he says before he leans over and kisses my cheek. He turns to start down the steps to leave.

"Dad?" I get his attention again. He stops one step down and turns to look at me to continue. "Are you still with the Agency?"

He shakes his head. "Only as a consultant on occasion."

"Oh," I nod. "Well… If…if you ever hear from Mom…tell her I…" I take a breath to build up the nerve to finish my thought. "I-I miss her."

He takes a moment before answering, and in that moment, I know the truth. My suspicions Michael had told me about, believing that my father knew where my mother was, were true. I could see it in his eyes as he answered quietly, "I will."

I smile knowingly and nod. "Goodnight, Dad."

"Goodnight."

After I watch him drive away, I go over to sit on the swing, and look out at the neighbors' houses, swathed in multi-colored lights and decorations littered throughout their yards. It still seems unreal that I'm actually here, living this life that I never knew I wanted.

I'm only alone for a few minutes when I hear someone behind me. "You okay?"

The sound of Michael's voice puts a smile on my face for what seems like the thousandth time since the accident, and I sit up straighter to make room for him beside me on the swing. He smiles at me as he sits down, and puts his arm around my shoulders. "Where is everybody?" I ask, as I kick off my shoes and tuck my feet up under me.

"They're inside, watching the end of 'It's a Wonderful Life' on TV."

"Mmm…" I murmur, snuggling further into his embrace. "It is a wonderful life." _If it wasn't for the secret I still have about my mother's past. _Opening my eyes again, I divulge, "Just before he left, I told my dad to tell my mother that I miss her."

"That's…good," he says supportively, yet I can tell the wound is still there.

"Is it? Is it right that I should have feelings for the woman that tore apart your family?"

"It's your family now too, Syd."

"I know…which just makes it worse that we've haven't told your mother, don't you think?"

He shrugs, but before he can argue, we hear Amélie say, "I already know."

Michael and I both jump as we turn to look at her. "What, Mom?" he asks.

She closes the front door and takes a couple of steps toward us. "Your father told me about your mother before you were married."

"He did? Why?" I ask.

"I suppose he wanted to make sure that nothing else came between you two and your happiness again."

"Amélie," I say, standing up off of the swing to face her. "I am so sorry."

She walks toward me until we're mere feet apart. "Don't be sorry for something you had no control over, Sydney. Besides," she adds, touching my cheek. "I couldn't have chosen a better wife for my son. You're like the daughter I never had." She smiles at me and then at Michael as she touches his cheek too. "Keep her out here for a little while so I can start on the dishes."

I feel the need to protest. "Mom, no—"

"I insist," she stops me, holding up a hand. "You two relax."

She leaves us alone by retreating back into the warmth of our house, closing the door behind her as Michael and I sit back down again in defeat. "Well, I didn't expect that," he admits quietly and I nod.

"Neither did I. She completely _dismissed_ Lauren." He and I both laugh at that and the tension completely dissipates—both of us knowing that _that _was not what he was referring to. "What happened to her anyway?"

"Lauren?" I nod. "Oh, she went back home to her parents'. And she was pretty amicable with me during the divorce proceedings, but she never talked to _you_ again."

"I guess she really hated me."

"Well, she almost _had_ to. Her husband was in love with you," he says, kissing my hair.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I tell him, "And here I was so sure that you wanted to get away from me because I was hurting your relationship with her. I can't believe my dad thought that distancing yourself from me would help me."

"Well, that was only one part of the reason," he admits. "He also didn't want you and I to have an affair. And let's face it…that _is_ where we were headed."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Every time we touched, it was like my skin was on fire. I thought I would go crazy. So I figured that if I took his advice and avoided you, I'd be able to get over you faster."

"And?"

"And here we are ten years later," he answers, his lips curving into a half-grin.

"Point taken," I smile with him. Fiddling with a button on his shirt, I ask, "How did that go over with my dad?"

"Oh, gosh. It was really tough for the first few years, and not just with him. There was a lot of fighting and anger and hard decisions we had to make, but somehow we made it."

I snuggle in closer, curling my body up next to him and closing my eyes. "Mmm… It was worth it."

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	8. Chapter 8

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**Chapter 8:**

As I sit, still wrapped in his arms and completely curled up next to him on the swing, I feel Michael's hand on my head as he starts slowly stroking my hair down to my back, one gentle motion at a time, soothing me until I'm completely relaxed. I feel like jell-o in his arms, and my extremities are so loosened, that they're practically numb. It seems like hours have passed, although I'm sure it's only been minutes, and all the while, my mind is telling me I should go inside and help Amélie with the dishes.

But before I could move, I'm so calmed that I think I must've fallen asleep because the next thing I know, I hear Michael's whispered voice calling my name. "_Syd. Sydney, wake up._" I feel a hand on my cheek. "_Sydney_."

My eyes flutter open and I can vaguely see Michael standing to my left. He smiles with relief, but my mind is so muddled and confused, that I can't completely focus on my surroundings or even feel my appendages. _Weren't we both sitting?_ "Thank God," he says, and I force my mind to focus on what he's saying. "I was really worried when you didn't show up on time."

_On time for what? _I wonder as his left hand joins his right to completely cradle my face, and that's when I notice something odd. "Michael, why aren't you wearing your wedding ring anymore?"

He laughs, "Well, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. But, can I help you out of the car first?"

"The car?" My mind is still foggy, and with a glance around at my environment, I discover I _am_ back in a car and not on my cozy, front porch swing in my husband's arms. I look up feeling slightly panicked. "Where am I? Wh-what happened to me?"

"You crashed your car, Syd. It looks like you hit your head on the steering wheel."

I shake my head adamantly. "That was last night."

"Last night?" he asks with confusion.

He doesn't press the issue as I shake my head, still puzzled, and instead reaches around me to unbuckle my seat belt and helps me get out. "Can you stand?"

I nod absently and stand to my feet, feeling as though I was reliving the night before. Looking around me though, I notice Vaughn's old car parked behind the one I was driving, instead of the van that had been there before. "The girls," I murmur, still somewhat disoriented. "Where are the girls?"

"What girls?"

"Francie, Emily, and Janie. Are they here? Are they in the car?"

"Syd, I have no idea who you're talking about. Francie and Emily are gone, and I don't know anybody named Janie." He shakes his head, as he searches my face, running his thumb lightly over the bump that had formed on my forehead. "I think you're worse off that I thought. We should get you to a hospital."

"No, I'm okay," I say, pulling his arm down. "I'm just…" my words stop when I turn to look at the car I was driving. "Wait. This is my _old_ car."

"It's brand new," he argues. "Your dad just helped you get it a month ago."

I turn back to face him as the pieces start to fall into place in my mind. "So, this is…this is two-thousand-five…and you're…still married to Lauren, right?"

"For now," he nods, still holding me up. "Syd, are you okay?"

"It was just a dream," I mumble disappointedly.

He lifts one hand to my cheek and searches my eyes. "You had a dream? Is that what this is all about?"

The pleasant way he's touching my face is unnerving now that I know I had dreamt the whole break-up with Lauren, and our future marriage and family. I back out of his reach, and turn away, trying to focus on the last waking memory I had. _Oh yeah. Christmas Eve—hating it so far. Going to meet Vaughn at the pier because he's… _My brain hits on something peculiar and I turn again to check his left hand, resting on his hip. _No ring._ Still staring at his bare left hand, I ask, "Vaughn, what was it you were going to tell me at the pier?"

"Oh, uh…" He shuffles his feet and raises his right hand from it's resting place on his waist to rub the bottom of his nose—a sign I recognize as nervousness. "Lauren and I…we…we split up. We're…getting divorced."

My heart jumps at the memory of him telling me the same thing on this night in my 'dream.' Had it _really_ been only a dream? "And _why_ are you telling me?" I ask as my eyes start to build up with tears.

His eyes turn so honest and loving, that I feel like I could melt right here and now. "Because I love you, Syd. I always have."

My first thought as the air left my lungs was that he'd said the same thing to me in bed that night ten years into the future. "Vaughn…" I say as I throw myself at him, crying and kissing his face at the same time, ending with my arms wrapped tightly around his neck. "We're going to have such a wonderful life together," I whisper with misty tears in my eyes.

He laughs over my shoulder. "You're getting a little ahead of me—I mean, not that I mind. I had this whole awkward speech planned about how I wouldn't have much to offer you—"

"I know," I say, pulling away from him to look into his eyes, with my hand on his cheek. "I've seen what you have to offer and I want it all."

"How can you be so sure?"

Ignoring his question, I ask, "Your mother's name Amélie, right? And your stepfather, Jonas?"

His eyebrows cross curiously. "How'd you—"

"You played the guitar in high school," I say with even more confidence that it _had_ been real.

"Okay, I _know _I never told you that," he says with that sexy half-grin. "How did you know those things?"

My mind was deep in thought. _I was there. We are going to have that marriage, that house, and those beautiful girls. _"I just…knew," I whisper, hoping that that's enough for now.

It must have been, because while I'm still piecing the dream together with this reality, he shakes his head, and says, "Syd, I know it's going to be hard for us. I still have to get divorced, and I'm sure there will be rumors about us that we'll have to deal with, not to mention all the negativity that will come out of our getting back together so soon, and we still have to find out what had happened to you—"

"It's worth it," I stop him with confidence, bringing my other hand to the other side of his face. "All of it." Looking deep into his eyes, I confess, "I love you, Michael." And remembering our conversation as we set the table that night, I add, "I need you. I will _always_ need you."

His grin widens. "Well, that's good…because I need you too. I'm sorry I never told you how much I love you before tonight."

"Don't worry about it," I tell him as I lean in close, smelling his uniquely sweet, masculine scent, rising from his neck. "This makes up for everything we've ever been through."

Our lips meet then, and although it seemed like it had only been a few hours since our last completely_ mutual _one for me, it in fact had been almost two and a half years. Vaughn's lips linger close to mine as we gradually part. "So what was this dream about?" he asks, with our foreheads touching and our arms wrapped securely around one another.

I grin, and laugh through my tears. "I'll have to tell you about it someday."

"It was that good?"

"It was the best dream I've ever had…like I was watching every wish I ever had come true."

"Was I in it?"

I grin. "You were the main attraction."

His eyes are curious, but instead of asking anything else, his lips close over mine again.

As I feel the passion building between us, I knew I had gotten exactly what I'd wanted. What would have happened tonight if I hadn't had the accident? Would I have believed that it was worth it to try to work through all of the problems we were certain to have in order to be together? Or would I have deserted him in search of finding happiness somewhere where I wouldn't have to fight so hard for it?

I honestly didn't know, but with the feeling of his arms around me, as strong as they were in my dream, I was glad I wouldn't have to find out. I can appreciate every problem we'll have because I know how it will end up—not to mention all of the other things I knew from jumping ten years into the future, including a couple of things I could change—namely myself. I would always remember to lean on Vaughn to keep him feeling needed. It was the least I could do after everything he'd done for me.

I knew without a doubt it was going to be a long, hard road ahead of us, with a lot of trials blocking our path to happiness, but I was willing to deal with it all…in order to live the dream.

_"And if wishes and dreams are merely for children, and if love's a tale for fools, I'll live the dream with you…"_

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_The End_

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_The quote was from the song, "The First Time I Loved Forever" from television's "Beauty and the Beast"_

A/N: Thank you for reading this story - and to the two that reviewed, you are jewels to me. I hope I'll see you again on another story! Hugs to you!


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